


Fire

by sophiahelix



Series: Elements [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Inexperience, Sexual exploration, Virgin Katsuki Yuuri, st petersburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 21:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10396719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: He shares a bed with Victor Nikiforov in St. Petersburg, and they sleep in only their underwear, bare skin touching everywhere. Outside, the city is vast and cold and complicated, and the snow drifts on the banks of the river are high and deep. There's a silver medal hanging on the bedroom wall, a memory and a goad to something more, something better.Yuuri rolls over, onto his belly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As I suspected, there's one more story coming (joke's on me for thinking I could write a series called Elements in just three installments!) But this is the part of the arc I was aiming for when I started writing, and it took a while to get it just the way I wanted. Thanks so much again to shdwsilk for beta and encouragement.

Nights are different in St Petersburg. The January sun sets early, and it doesn't get fully light until long after they've dressed and left for the rink. They’re inside for most of the day, and the only time Yuuri sees the weak winter sunlight is when he offers to make the lunch run, picking up boxes of kapsalon with salmon and potatoes from the Dutch cafe down the street.

He's tired his whole first week. He keeps thinking he's over the lag, but in the darkness it's impossible to know what time he's woken up, and sometimes it's too early to do anything but roll over onto his back and lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the beat of his heart. When Yuuri truly can't sleep he creeps into the living room and starts the big glass fireplace, pressing the button on the wall and watching the blue flames appear, ghostly in the dark. He scrolls through his phone or stares out the wide windows into the city night, a flat smoky black that doesn't change.

St Petersburg is beautiful, in a huge, chilly way that Yuuri can't quite encompass. There's an ornate majesty in the buildings that overwhelms him, between ugly blocks of concrete flats, with tram and power lines everywhere and the frozen river through the middle of the city. He's been in big cities many times but never stayed so long before, and sometimes he wakes up struggling to find himself, one tiny light in the midst of a limitless forest of them.

Tonight he wakes up in Victor’s arms. They never slept in the same bed before he came to Russia, and he's learned that Victor always finds a way to be close, traveling in his sleep. He wakes to find Victor’s legs tangled with his, or Victor’s arm flung across his pillow, resting on his head. Victor smiles when Yuuri pushes him away in the morning, crawling over to get even closer, but he's getting better about letting Yuuri find his own way to sleep.

Now Victor is hard, lying behind him. That's not new. It happens all the time, standing together in the kitchen or lying across the couch. Victor smiles at that too, tells him not to worry. “It doesn't always mean something,” he’ll say, reaching over to rub the back of Yuuri’s neck. “My body just likes having you around.”

It's different for Yuuri. He still isn't used to that quick, intense heat flaring between them, and it's hard to tell when it's a momentary rush or something deeper. He's felt desire before but acting on it is new; in some ways it's nothing like hunger, capricious and incidental, and some ways that's exactly what it is, a vital thing that must be controlled. He can't indulge his hunger for Victor all the time, but when he does it’s like they take another step downwards, moving deeper into the warm dark together.

Victor is hard, and the rest of his body is waking up too; legs shifting against Yuuri’s, covetous fingers moving down his belly. Tonight seems to be a night for hunger.

“Victor?” Yuuri whispers. 

“Mm,” Victor says, low and sleepy. His fingers move farther down.

Yuuri arches his neck a little, his head against Victor’s mouth. He lifts Victor’s fingers, pulling them under the waistband of his underwear, and he hears Victor make another soft, happy sound.

He shares a bed with Victor Nikiforov in St. Petersburg, and they sleep in only their underwear, bare skin touching everywhere. Outside, the city is vast and cold and complicated, and the snow drifts on the banks of the river are high and deep. There's a silver medal hanging on the bedroom wall, a memory and a goad to something more, something better. 

Yuuri rolls over, onto his belly.

Victor kisses his ear, pressing in with his whole body. He pulls his hand up to skim Yuuri’s hip, palming the curves behind, and he leans down to bury his face in Yuuri’s hair, against the back of his head. He kisses there, murmuring a soft something Yuuri can't hear.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, and spreads his legs.

This is what he dreamed of, when he was younger. Victor, above and surrounding him, with him. More spirit than substance, the flash of his smile and the color of his eyes, the tilt of his body and the fall of his hair, something desired and distant. Now he’s close and present, feet cold and mouth hot, his body rough and smooth and heavy and slender, and his fingers trail down.

Yuuri shivers.

“Cold?” Victor whispers.

Yes, his fingertips are cool, but more than that it's the heat he sparks in Yuuri, deep and surprising, a flame Yuuri can't always control. This novel world of acting on desires, of asking for, and taking. The heady, enormous potential of it all.

“No,” Yuuri says, “I'm not cold.”

He kicks his foot, throwing the sheets aside. The air is warm enough, and he's heated from Victor’s touch and the growing possibilities, so many doors opening ahead. Yuuri arches his back more, into Victor’s hand. “Touch me,” he murmurs.

Victor makes another sound, less soft now. 

This isn't Yuuri’s room, back in Hasetsu. This isn't them last year, creeping toward each other, slow and circling. This isn't Yuuri’s old self, _before_. Unmedaled and shy, diffident and hesitating, living in his body like a shell, a solitary retreat. He's let Victor in, and the changes keep rolling ahead of them, rippling waves and quick-burning fires that alter the world he knew.

He feels Victor lean over to the nightstand, straining to reach it. Yuuri shivers again. There's still that moment of apprehension, waiting for Victor’s touch to return, when he wants to cringe away, holding himself safe and apart. But it's dark in Victor’s room, their room, and Yuuri buries his face in his arms, against the pillow. He takes a deep breath, the air fresh as it flows into his mouth and throat. 

“Now you'll be cold,” Victor says, an edge of amusement in his voice as he slicks up his hand. 

He's so often light like this, joking. Yuuri isn't sure if it's to gentle him down, softening the intensity of each new moment, or if it's who Victor really is, laughing and casual. Sometimes he appreciates it, letting the tension unwind, and sometimes it aches, a jarring discord like missing a step. 

Tonight he wants Victor to be where he is. He wants the hunger to matter.

“Hurry,” Yuuri mutters against his arm. He turns his head to look at Victor in the dim light. It's hours before dawn. “I — want you.”

Victor stops. Yuuri can't see much of his face, under his pale hair, but his eyes flash once as he blinks. “All right,” Victor says, and his words are almost as light but Yuuri can hear the difference now, the roughness as he finishes. “Yuuri,” he adds, lower, his voice a rich caress.

Yuuri shuts his eyes as Victor touches him. He can't help it; it still takes so much to stay here, breathing into this intimacy. He wants so much but it's hard to hold it all, to encompass the day and the night. The things his body does. Sometimes he thinks it would be easier if he could give it all up to Victor, bowing his head before the wave, but that's not how Victor is. That's not how they are.

“All right?” Victor asks, pausing, and now the words are a way-post, a beam before them in the dark. He always goes slow. Yuuri knows he won't move again until he's told, and he's grateful for that power even as it overwhelms him. 

“Mm,” Yuuri nods, keeping his eyes shut.

Victor keeps going slow. It feels good, the firm press of his fingers, stroking and slick, circling. Yuuri’s breath is heavy in his mouth. Slow is good but he wants to feel the immediacy, the weighty edge of _more_.

“Victor,” he groans, arching his back, and his face goes so hot against the pillow to hear himself like that, needing. His breath trembles, too much for his body, his ears roaring like the sea. He wants and he wants.

“Yes?” Victor asks, distant. Like he's getting lost in slowness, the languid progress of his hand. 

“More,” Yuuri says, turning his head. “I need more.”

For a moment it seems like Victor didn't hear, still stroking light and shallow. Then Yuuri feels him lean down, pressing his forehead to the curving middle of Yuuri’s back. It's warm against his bare skin, and so is Victor’s breath, soft but fast. Victor kisses him.

Then he's slipping in, twisting, his fingers slender and seeking. Yuuri grunts, tightening his thighs. His toes push into the bed, flexing hard. He breathes, hot.

They do this, now. Ever since that night in Barcelona, Victor’s hands moving beneath his robe. Yuuri knew enough to want it and not enough to know how it would be, the raw, invading tenderness of being touched like that. Yuuri was shaken apart that night, blood beating in his fingertips, throat swollen with words he couldn't say. It’s gotten easier, like everything, and but he still tenses against the moment when Victor reaches deep inside.

Finally, Victor does. Gentle, flickering, his mouth still warm against Yuuri's back, he touches Yuuri the way he loves, the way he dreads, the way that ripples through him and curls his toes like a rainstorm, like electricity, like being seen. 

Yuuri’s arms wrap tight around his pillow and he turns his face down. “Victor,” he gasps, into the bed. “Victor, _Victor_.” 

His moan is sharp, when Victor presses harder. Tears start under his lids, aching, and his breath is a solid thing in his chest. He's so hot all over, face and shoulders burning, the sweet thick pulse of blood farther down, between his legs. His underwear cuts into his spread thighs and Yuuri has a bright, stunning image of how he must look, laid out like this. Naked and wanting under Victor’s hands, undone by the simple touch of his fingers.

And he still wants more.

That's what he says, when he trusts his weak voice. _More. More._ Victor takes in a long, rushing breath, through his nose, and there’s some strange, strained emotion in it. He shifts, kissing Yuuri again, stroking the tender back of Yuuri’s thigh with the flat of his palm. “Sure?”

Yuuri wishes Victor wouldn't wait. Wishes he’d just take, choosing for them both. But it's Yuuri who has to nod into the pillow, arch into Victor’s hand. Has to hold the power of asking.

“Yuuri,” Victor sighs, and moves away a little. 

He can’t watch. He closes his eyes tighter, against the expected light, but instead there’s Victor’s soft hand on his hips, urging him to turn over. He goes, keeping his eyes shut as he settles on his back. Victor takes hold of his ankles, gently, pushing until his knees slide up. Yuuri throws an arm over his face, gasping for breath, as Victor skims fingertips down his thighs, reaching to pull his stretched-tight underwear down, off. 

Now Yuuri’s bare before him, burning up. Yuuri’s blood is fire and his breath is hot, and he wants to kiss Victor’s mouth and to burn brighter, exhausted and pushing past everything, until it’s too bright to see, too hot to think. Until there’s only the fire of their bodies together. 

Victor gives him his mouth. 

It’s like a shadow descends, a candle going out. Yuuri strangles for breath. His eyes flash open to see Victor, head bent, leaning over him, taking him in. Victor moves in the dark, a hand spread on each of Yuuri’s thighs, his mouth delicate and warmer than anything Yuuri’s ever known. It’s so wet and intimate, the shock of his tongue, the heat of being held, and Yuuri closes his teeth on his own forearm against an anguished groan. 

Victor keeps moving, slow. Yuuri reaches out, clumsy and rough, to grip his shoulder. He needs the contact, something solid, familiar, and he holds tight to the bone and muscle beneath his hand. 

“Vi — Victor,” Yuuri exhales, breathless. Victor’s mouth is strange and clever, fine hands steady on his thighs. He doesn't press down, resting and not holding, and Yuuri senses that in this, as in everything, he has a choice. He squeezes his eyes shut again.

It's obscene, the slide of Victor’s mouth. The way his lips part, warm and slick, advancing, enclosing. Yuuri burns with so much sensation, and he shudders and arches up, the skin of his body prickling and alight. He can't get used to it, can't be still, hips rocking and his breath catching in his throat over and over, his fingers spasming on Victor’s shoulder. Victor goes down, and down, and down.

“Ahh,” Yuuri groans at last, low and thick and dragged from his throat. His heels drive into the bed, his knees locked, thighs tense beneath Victor’s hands. The soles of his feet are tingling and the fire is sweeping everywhere, a comet swelling from his chest, bright sparks and shining trails. “Ah, _Victor_.”

And then it happens, and Victor doesn't move away. Yuuri keeps his eyes shut tight against the sight and knowledge of Victor taking what he gives him, the soft sounds as he swallows. Victor’s hands are hot and damp on his thighs now, like some of the fire in Yuuri’s body has leapt to him, and Yuuri feels the heat of each finger, the movement of his tongue, everything painfully sharp and bright in his mind.

After, Yuuri lies upon the shore of a far and arid desert country, panting in small hot gasps, spent.

He feels Victor move his head, withdrawing slightly. Victor doesn't go far. He rubs his cheek against Yuuri’s hip, sweaty hands moving on his thighs, and new heat burns through Yuuri at the warm thick intimate mess of their bodies. He shudders.

Victor moves again, shifting on the bed, sitting back. There's a silent, stretched moment, and then Victor lets out a soft groan, with a quick, slick sound beneath it that makes Yuuri’s cheeks flame again.

Yuuri opens his eyes to see Victor touching himself in the dark. His hand moves beneath the white fabric of his underwear, and he's watching Yuuri, his mouth open and wet. His hair falls in his bright eyes. For a moment it seems the air itself ceases to breathe, the world stilled and hushed, balanced on one point, and then Yuuri pushes himself up and hooks his hand around the back of Victor’s neck.

“I _want_ you,” Yuuri mutters. 

Victor’s weight is nothing, as they fall back on the bed, and everything. He tastes of salt, and want, and salt. Yuuri inhales his breath. His knee moves between Yuuri’s thighs, sharp, and Yuuri groans and kisses him more deeply. The skin of Victor’s back is cool beneath his skimming hands, barely warmer beneath his briefs. Yuuri pushes them down. Victor is so hard against the inner crease of his hip, and the hair above is rough on his belly, as they grapple and shift, mouths sliding. 

“Do you,” Victor breathes, getting one hand under himself. “Should I — can I —”

“Yes, yes,” Yuuri says. “ _Yes_.” 

Victor’s hair brushes his face, as Victor shakes his head once, like he's clearing something away. He reaches for the nightstand again, and there's time enough for Yuuri’s heart to slow to a choking thud, watching Victor’s movements in the near-darkness. He was burned clean a minute ago, free to reach and to want, but now he isn't sure of anything except the beautiful lines of Victor’s body, the constant ache of desiring him. It's a spirit he's lived with a decade and more, but the changing shape of it now is strange and bewildering, slipping through his fingers.

Then Victor’s hands are beneath his thighs, sticky and cool, pushing up. Yuuri gasps out a breath and reaches for Victor’s shoulders. Everything feels crooked and surprising, bodies moving together in ways they never have, and he needs the kiss Victor gives him, brief but steadying.

“This won't be —” Victor whispers. “But I'll try.”

Yuuri can't think what he means, but it doesn't matter because Victor moves his hips, circling first, forward, in. 

It's more. It's more, and more, heavy and slow, substantial and certain, the demanding wave he's been waiting for at last. All he has to do is close his eyes, hold his breath, and Victor will rush over him like the sea, saltwater filling his body, dominion in motion. 

Yuuri keeps his eyes open, and he breathes deep.

Victor goes slow. He always goes slow. There's a familiar rocking sway to his hips, but it's lacking the grace of dance or the skill of his hands. It's blinded, blunted, and he shifts his weight awkwardly between elbows and knees. He pushes again, a shove, and Yuuri winces at the way it catches, opening him roughly. Victor moves again, the same. Again.

The heated spark between them fades, coarsened with his plain movements, and abruptly Yuuri feels cold and cramped, aware of the reality of their bodies. Victor above him seems a weight, restraining instead of soothing, and his body an encroachment, nothing like it’s been before. Yuuri twists his hips, letting out a dissatisfied sound.

Victor turns his head, panting out a moist breath against Yuuri’s cheek. “Yuuri?” 

It takes a breath, and then another, but Yuuri slides his hands down to rest on Victor’s chest, gentle but firm. “Stop.”

He knows Victor will, and he does. “What is it?” Victor asks, urgent, in his regular tones. He pulls back to look at Yuuri, eyes wide with concern. “Am I hurting you?” 

“No,” Yuuri says, quick and soft. “I just —” 

It fills him up, the impasse of words. They're caught between, in this liminal, median place, an action arrested, neither one thing nor the other. He desires Victor, and he finally understands in what way.

“Turn over, please,” Yuuri says.

Victor goes, looking at him all the while. It's strange to feel him withdrawing, but a relief too, as the insistent pressure fades. Victor stretches out on his back, pale arms folded beneath his head, and turns his head to meet Yuuri’s eyes. “Like this?”

“Yes,” Yuuri murmurs, choosing his meaning. “I do.”

Now it's upon him, the moment of action, and he is the wave. Or the flame; he feels lighter, alight, alive with the thrill of wanting. He remembers a chill, rainy night in Hasetsu when this felt like the weight of infinity, and himself small and nervous, hesitating before it. Now he rises, an elbow beneath him, a hand above Victor, and descends to take a kiss.

Victor leans into it, warm and willing, angling up his chin. Yuuri rests his hand on Victor’s chest, the cool firm curving planes of it, and kisses him hard and well. He knows how, now. Knows how Victor kisses back, the pause at the doorstep, the way he tastes Yuuri and the way he _tastes_. Cool and sharp and sweet, a memory of something and a promise. 

And his body is Yuuri’s domain, now. All the joyful heat and movement of his presence, the graceful workings of his form, his pulse and breath and sinews, his soft lips beneath Yuuri's own. Yuuri feels the desire in him too, powerful and solid, but Victor doesn't press, doesn't ask. He waits for Yuuri, as he always has.

Yuuri glides his hand down, feeling his way. He encounters and strips away the slick, sticky sheath, fumbling with the tight rolled edge of it, unfamiliar and interfering. Then there's just Victor beneath, surging into his hand, warm and wanting what Yuuri wants, as they kiss and kiss.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers against his mouth. It becomes a groan. “ _Yuuri_.”

So much has changed since Yuuri first did this, and nothing at all. They're here in the warm, white space of Victor’s bed, their bed, and the city surrounds them, dense and ornate, impersonal and unknowing. Everything Yuuri knows is very far away. 

But he knows Victor; the response of his body when he’s stripped to the edge of want. Quick and strong, straining to hold himself back, yearning up beneath Yuuri. His breath is so fast and his hips are so restless, one long slender foot drawing up and then down, over the sheets. 

There is a very, very small part of Yuuri that hesitates, still small, still nervous. Victor _Nikiforov_. But he moves deeper into the night, into the light, and leaves that part behind.

Yuuri goes slow. Works his mouth against Victor’s plush lips, steady, and his hand over Victor’s firm length. Fingertips. Thumb. Grip. Brush. Squeeze.

“Ah, Yuuri, Yuuri,” Victor pants, urgent. He groans again. “Yuuri, please.”

Yuuri shakes his head, very slightly, brushing his lips over Victor’s. 

Victor’s hands come up to grip Yuuri’s shoulders, tight enough to hurt. He tips his head back with another long groan, rough and pained, and his hips pulse into Yuuri’s hand. 

“Good,” Yuuri whispers. His cheeks burn to hear himself say it, and the heat stays, a driving force. He draws Victor off, friction and movement, and Victor is loud now, louder, his deep moans made resonant by the soft music of his voice. Yuuri leans back enough to look at him, his broad pale chest heaving, the dark hair beneath Yuuri’s wrist, all the new intimate details of his body that have become so sweet and known. 

“Good,” Yuuri whispers again. He bends his head, pressing his mouth to Victor’s chest, just above his collarbone. “You're so good, Victor.”

Victor’s body hums, vibrating, beneath him. Yuuri feels it all along the places they're touching, bare skin to bare skin; his upper body resting on Victor’s, his thigh drawn up over Victor’s leg. He glides his hand, slow, and kisses Victor’s chest again, nudging his face into the crook of Victor’s neck. He can feel Victor’s breath here, rushing through the column of his throat, and he searches for Victor’s pulse with his lips, seeking that warm living beat. 

“Oh,” Victor says. His arms shift to wrap around Yuuri’s shoulders, holding him close. He leans his cheek against Yuuri's head, and his hips strain up again, jerking into Yuuri’s hand. 

“Do you want me to,” Yuuri murmurs, low.

Victor breathes in and out, twice, heavily. “I want,” he says. “You.”

Yuuri closes his eyes, tight, as the hot rush of emotion breaks over him. His body burns, everywhere he's touching Victor, like their bodies are joining, a shared pulse and a shared life. Victor’s pleasure is his, as he strokes faster, firmer, Victor growing hard and full in his hand. Victor’s cry is sharp, and then it's tender and vulnerable, breaking soft as he trembles and turns in Yuuri’s arms. Yuuri kisses him again, beneath his jaw.

The dark, after, is full of their breath. The air is warm and kind, gentle on their arms and legs. Victor’s hand rests, curved, on the back of Yuuri’s neck, palm hot and fingers loose.

The demanding fire burns down low. Their bodies are just bodies, their own again. He feels the flame still small inside him, though, a pilot light for greater things, and he knows now what it feels like, to make it burn bright.

“I'm sorry,” Yuuri says at last. “I didn't mean to — I'm still learning. What I want.”

Victor strokes Yuuri’s neck. “I know. Me too.”

Yuuri presses his face against Victor’s chest. “But you're older. You know things. Have done things. You know what you want.”

He feels Victor sigh as much as he hears it, a long sinking release beneath his cheek. “It's different every time.”

They breathe together a little while. Yuuri feels the damp warmth where they're still touching, hips and thighs and bellies and arms, even as the coolness of the night begins to make itself felt. Victor stretches his legs out, pointing his toes, and turns his head. Yuuri tilts up to look at him.

“I don't want you to think I know everything,” Victor says, and his voice is thick somehow, indistinct. “That's no way to be with a person. And anyway it isn't true.” 

He reaches up to brush Yuuri’s temple with his thumb, pushing back a lock of hair, and his smile is soft, indistinct as his words. Yuuri strains to hear what's behind them, holding his breath. 

“You're different,” Victor says, very low. “You keep surprising me. Making everything new.”

Yuuri smiles, rueful. “Everything _is_ new to me.”

“You make it that way for me too. I thought I knew — well, I guess I didn’t.”

And there's so much left in the silence that follows, palpable and solid in the air between them. Yuuri could lean up and take a kiss again, Victor’s mouth soft and open to give away his breath, but he doesn't. Now, in this moment of stillness, Yuuri feels more than ever the weight of action, of choice. Of all that's unfolded from inside him, blossoming as the year faded, drawn out by Victor.

No — not drawn out, but kindled, like Victor breathed upon that tiny spark at his heart and stood back to watch the rising glow. It's out of both their hands now, this delicate, raging blaze, but it's Yuuri’s to command, and Yuuri’s to tend. He's not who he was last fall, still just coming awake, half-frozen. Even here in the home of winter there's a warmth inside him, pressing back against the chill of the encircling city, the ice and stone. 

He lies in Victor’s arms, but for the first time he feels how tender Victor truly is, deeply open and vulnerable beneath everything, and how he's put himself in Yuuri’s hands, laying out a life for him. How much he needs the fire they've started together.

Yuuri reaches up and rests his hand along Victor’s cheek. Victor’s breath is sweet with the memory of kisses. “Find out with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [sophia-helix](http://sophia-helix.tumblr.com)


End file.
